


As Rest Now Escapes Us

by josephina_x



Series: the Quiet Moments Stolen 'verse [2]
Category: Smallville
Genre: (not in that order), Anger, Angst, Bad Advice, Depression, Fire, Gen, Mental Anguish, Post Finale, Rage, Shame, Space Battles, and, and then, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josephina_x/pseuds/josephina_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then Tess called him back on his cellphone with news of exactly who owned his childhood home now, and Clark saw red.</p><p>Okay. Okay. He probably shouldn't have lost his temper like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Rest Now Escapes Us

**Author's Note:**

> Title: As Rest Now Escapes Us  
> Author: [josephina_x](http://josephina-x.livejournal.com/)  
> Fandom: Smallville  
> Pairing: Clark, Lex  
> Rating: R (for language)  
> Spoilers: general for all seasons; takes place after season finale, but before the seven-year-jump  
> Word count: 5400+  
> Summary: And then Tess called him back on his cellphone with news of exactly who owned his childhood home now, and Clark saw red.
> 
> Okay. Okay. He probably shouldn't have lost his temper like that.  
> Warnings: Un-beta'd.  
> Disclaimer: Not mine, not-for-profit.  
> Comments: Yes, please! :)  
> Author's Note: Meh. I was gonna do the next morning in Lex POV, but then I did this one first. This takes place at the same time as "Quiet Moments Stolen" -- it's from Clark's POV.

~*~*~*~*~*~

To say that Clark was surprised to find Lex Luthor in his barn was an understatement.

Getting told off by him and then shot in the chest was even less fun. ...And here he'd thought it was a good thing, getting back early from pitching in to help out with the latest Green Lantern emergency at the edges of known space -- not really his problem, but they had three humans in the Corps, so Clark figured that Earth maybe owed the Oans a little for the extra firepower, and 'Superman' wasn't averse to being the one to help pay it forward.

Nope. Instead he got to deal with an irate, irascible, lying little Luthor.

Admittedly, Clark wasn't thinking all that clearly when he batted the gun out of Luthor's hands, grabbed him, and sped him off to the sheriff. He'd been pissed off (and a little freaked out) that Luthor had been lounging around in his Fortress of Solitude.

Clark usually made it a point to track Luthor down and see what he was up to whenever he'd been away from Earth for any appreciable length of time. He'd been tired, though, what with the Lantern S.O.S. originating from an G-class star system that hadn't had _quite_ the right solar spectra to recharge his strength fully the way he was used to, and neither had any of the other systems they'd passed through. It had been just one long grind while he'd been away. The trip there had been long and arduous, trying to track down the blasted genocidal space pirate armada in the first place. They'd started out at the tail-end of the swath of death and destruction they'd left in their wake, and trailed it back to the front, trying to help the desperate survivors of the attacks all the while, and again and again _just_ missing the bastards after they'd struck and run yet again. It was demoralizing as hell. When they'd finally caught up to them, the battle actually hadn't taken all that long -- they'd outgunned and outclassed the bastards completely -- which just made it that much more frustrating and left everyone guilt-stricken that they hadn't been able to stop them sooner.

After all that, Clark had just wanted to go home. But he hadn't been keeping track of where they'd been -- he'd left the navigation to the Lanterns and their Oa-interconnected rings, just focusing on keeping up the pace they set -- so he didn't know how to get back on his own. His solar-energy reserves had been depleted from the aforementioned protracted lack of proper spectra exposure, and it hadn't helped that he hadn't had a breather, either -- he really wasn't used to long space missions out in the cold like this, and they'd only stopped planetside once. So he'd been tired, and his powers had been running low, and he wasn't even really supposed to be there in the first place -- he'd technically been volunteering to take J'onn's place while he dealt with some Martian issues with his niece M'gann -- and he hadn't expected it to go anything like this, and now he'd just wanted to curl up in a corner someplace and get some rest. _Was that too much to ask?_ \--But there just wasn't anything like that in the aftermath, no safe quiet corners to collapse in, and wasn't that another depressing kick-in-the-teeth? So he'd decided to hitch a ride from Guy Gardner back to Earth to conserve his strength. He should've known better.

See, the thing about Guy was that he thought of himself as a macho guy, and like all "macho guys" he had pretty low self-esteem. This meant he felt the need to prove himself, constantly. So Guy had a predisposition to mouth off about anything and everything to start with, but _this_ time Guy's usual brand of of nasty jock-like snark had been directed at _Superman_ the entire trip back, non-stop. Clark wasn't used to it, probably because he'd never come across as having any sort of weakness before, and of course Guy had to get in a few verbal punches in when the Man of Steel himself needed help from one of the guys who he'd been helping out, especially when the other two Lanterns were too involved in the final cleanup to give Clark a ride back themselves.

So when given a choice between staying another week or two longer and pitching in, when he barely had the wherewithal to _move_ anymore, but then getting a quiet and peaceful journey back, versus heading back immediately with Guy to a somewhat- **sane** and _welcoming_ corner of the universe, he'd been an idiot. Instead of sucking it up and pitching in with the cleanup effort, acting like a **real** Hero should, he'd picked Guy, and karma really was a nasty, ugly bitch.

Less than thirty minutes in to what had been promised to be a five-and-a-half hour trip, Clark had already begun to regret his decision. He'd quickly started believing that it just wasn't worth it, as he clenched his jaw and held onto his temper and tried to ignore Guy, which was difficult even under the least trying of circumstances. Clark spent a good portion of the trip kicking himself and thinking that he probably could've made it back on his own if he'd gotten a star map from someone, and then pushed his powers while being careful which star systems he passed by on the way, but now that he was back on Earth he wasn't so sure. By the time they'd landed on good old U.S. soil, Clark could barely summon the energy to float, and he didn't know if that had more to do with Guy's constant _belittling_ or the four red-sun M-class systems they'd passed along the way. Clark still didn't know if red-sunlight suppressed his powers or actually _drained_ them, but despite Guy's pestering he'd obviously been trying to avoid systems like that, and it had otherwise been nearly the most direct route back. Knowing that the Lantern had actually been trying to be helpful in his actions, despite his consistent inflammatory haranguing words, hadn't really helped alleviate the foul mood Guy had left him in. If anything, it just grated on Clark that much more, that he still had a reason to be grateful to the jerk.

So, yeah. He'd sighed and left Guy to his bar-crawling, somehow managing to do so without punching him in the face. He'd picked up on Lex's very distinctive heartbeat and realized that it was west of Metropolis, in the direction of Smallville. And, too tired to fly there and get it over with, and not particularly feeling like attempting to float himself up to an altitude where he could recharge first before whatever inevitable blowup would probably happen _this_ time, he'd decided to just drive out.

It was late, and the truck was parked out the outskirts of the city, so he hadn't even bothered to change out of the suit. No-one was going to be on the roads to see him, and he'd just have had to change back into it anyway before confronting Luthor, which was kind of annoying to do at subsonic speeds. The boots tended to stick if he didn't rub them quickly enough to heat the thigh-parts up so the material would expand; otherwise, it was near-impossible to slide them off due to the close-fit and the friction. They were kind of designed to seal to the costume that way -- otherwise, he would have run the risk of his boots sliding off mid-air when he flew at-speed. Otherwise, if the wind caught at the tops of the boots, it'd inflate them right down to the heels and the force from the windshear would push them right off of his feet from the inside.

He also hadn't wanted to peel off the suit and then have to put it on again before washing it. He hadn't had a chance to bathe the entire time he'd been out, and in Clark's book there was nothing more ick than having to put on a dirty suit.

So Clark had stretched and groaned a little, and gotten in his beat up old pickup truck, and drove Smallville-bound. He had begun to relax as he passed Belle Reeve and realized Lex was still west, and even more so after he'd passed the mansion and realized Lex was still even more west.

It was about that point that Clark had had the thought of how nice it would be to crash up in his old Fortress for awhile. He'd curled up in the old barn loft once or twice since the new owners had bought up the place. They were absentee owners, as far as Clark had noticed on his flyovers -- other, older farmers in town planted the fields and reaped the crops, and not once had Clark seen anyone living in the old farmhouse or using the barn. They were locked up and vacant, and though not empty of furniture, the empty fridge and ubiquitous dust covers over everything were a testament to how often the owners stopped by, so it wasn't as though the owner or owners could possibly mind his short visits from time to time.

 _Yeah, it would be nice to just crash in the loft, 'til the sun comes up,_ Clark had sighed to himself as he drove on autopilot through the last legs of town. Maybe he'd even stay up there a little longer, let the sun beat down on him for a bit from a stationary, relaxed sprawl. For some reason, it had always felt a little awkward to float and recharge at the same time when he was running on his last dregs. He liked to be standing still, or preferably lying down, when doing that. It was just that much more restive.

So at about the outskirts of town he'd stopped tracking Lex's heartbeat, his mind focused only on how nice it would be to just collapse for a little while and stop thinking about anything at all. What a relief.

...up until he'd gotten shot three times in the chest by a Luthor lying-in-wait for him like a little sneak.

With his powers as depleted as they were, it had hurt, too. Clark wouldn't be surprised if he ended up with bruises from it. It _felt_ like he was bruising.

So, yeah, he hadn't been all that gentle with the guy. He'd even been angry enough to summon the energy to fly him off at-speed. But with the whole stupid, childish "you're trespassing," "no, _you're_ trespassing" bullshit he'd tried to pull, Clark figured Luthor had it coming. Clark wasn't trespassing. It was _his_ home, damnit, and _his_ barn, and how dare Luthor hang around doing whatever he wanted, acting like he owned the place! --And _Superman_ could go wherever he wanted when he was tracking down lunatics like Luthor, thank you very much -- it wasn't like anybody had ever or _would_ ever object to that.

Besides, if the feds were satisfied for only being able to put away Al Capone for tax fraud, Superman would be perfectly happy to get Luthor jailed for trespassing for at least a night or two.

 _...Actually, come to think of it,_ Superman realized, _if I can find the property owners and let them know Luthor was trespassing and **firing weapons** on their property, I might be able to get charges pressed, and then Luthor'll have a lot more coming than just a slap on the wrist._ Now _that_ would be a nice happy ending to a really lousy month!

Clark-as-Superman left Luthor with the Sheriff in town -- because he wasn't about to do Luthor any favors, taking him to Metropolis where his lawyers would get him out on bail in less than thirty minute while-you-wait -- and then proceeded to head out and x-ray the town's Register of Deeds office, scanning through the public land records and deeds of property sale for the current owners of his old homestead.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes as he finally found the paperwork. One of these days Lowell County was going to have to be dragged kicking and screaming into the 21'st century and get their records online.

Clark then had to trudge back to the barn on-foot to retrieve his cellphone from the truck -- he hadn't grabbed his League communicator yet, having just gotten in from off-planet -- and called Tess up at three in the morning to ask her to run a quick search via Watchtower for him. ...Whatever, it wasn't a big deal -- not like she was busy doing anything except the night shift anyway.

Except, apparently, the quick search wasn't, and Tess said in her frowny voice that she'd get back to him in a bit.

Ugh. ...Oh, well. Clark could check out the barn in the meantime for other booby-traps and stuff, right? He could be careful.

So he scanned the lower floor -- saw nothing out of the ordinary -- and then made his way back up to the loft.

He winced when he realized that there were a pair of shoes and a coat off to the side, both in Luthor's size and style. It hadn't quite registered earlier that he hadn't been wearing them, other than a small nagging feeling in the back of his mind that Luthor had looked weird.

...Come to think of it, he hadn't been armed, either. Not right away, not if that flurry of motion as he'd hit the landing had been any indication. Luthor's gun holsters and vest were dangling off of a chair, and when Clark moved towards the couch and gauged the distance, he realized that they were well out of reach of the couch where, from the indentations in the cushions, it looked like Lex must have been lying down.

 _Weird._ Lex didn't disarm for anything, these days. He sure didn't take of his coat and shoes unless he was planning to stay awhile and _lounge_ , and he sure as hell didn't do that when he was expecting a Superman visit. The only time Clark had ever seen Luthor less than fully done up since the Apocalypse had been one time and one time only, and as Mr. Kent-the-Reporter, and he was pretty sure that that little accidental run-in had been a complete surprise to Luthor -- otherwise he deserved an Emmy for faking it.

 _Okay, so what was Luthor doing up here -- lying down on the couch and **thinking?**_ Clark snorted.

Then he felt a chill go down his spine. _Oh hell._ He'd better not have been. That would be a _nightmare_.

In the aftermath of the Apocalypse, Oliver had rescued Tess from the hospital right out from under Luthor's nose. She'd been stabbed by him, and she'd nearly died from the blood loss. Luckily, the LuthorCorp staff had been dumb enough to worry about them both, and gotten them both to the hospital, rather than finishing what Luthor had started. Oliver had grabbed her and secreted her away, and he'd been helping her by discreetly running interference against Luthor ever since. Tess' worst fear was that Luthor would eventually find out where she was, force a physical confrontation, and finish her off, and the records spoke for themselves -- he'd been throwing almost all his efforts into trying to track down her whereabouts "to talk things out" ever since day one.

Things had cooled down a little since, but Luthor hadn't given up by any means. He said that he was amenable to splitting the company, but everyone knew it was a trap to draw her out if she agreed -- LuthorCorp, now LexCorp, was an all-or-nothing deal with him. He'd given Lionel no quarter in the end, so why would anyone believe that he would act differently now? The fact that every time an address or contact information was 'accidentally' leaked by her lawyers' office and Luthor ended up on the scene shortly thereafter looking for her was just par for the course.

The memory loss wasn't an excuse, either. Tess had explained what she'd used on Luthor's clone when he'd gotten too close, right after he'd stabbed her; that neurotoxin had come from the Summerholt research, and would have wiped out everything the clone ever knew. But apparently that hadn't been enough. The clone might no longer have Lex's memories, but he sure as hell talked and acted the same as Lex ever had, and he had the same business acumen and insight and warlike philosophy, too. He was also just as sneaky in his under-the-table dealings. Lois hadn't been able to pin anything on him yet, and it was driving her up the wall. The clone was making no mistakes -- not since Tess had managed to survive -- and he'd been cleaning up everything else. If the pattern held, he was going to "clean up" Tess, too, one of these days, if the League didn't do everything it could to keep her safe.

Tess would've gotten a restraining order, but they couldn't prove she needed it, as the physical evidence of the dagger had "inexplicably" 'gone missing' from the office long before Oliver had tried to track it down. It was also a 'he said, she said' situation of the worst kind, since Tess admitting where she'd been and been found would mean admitting being in the presence of Luthor during the time period when he'd lost his memory. If she opened that Pandora's box, Luthor might very well claim that she attacked him first, and that he'd stabbed her in self-defense. Worse, with LuthorCorp rebranded and his once again -- the vast majority of personnel taking his side over Tess', at any rate -- he could probably summon up any number of so-called "witnesses" who would be happy to finger Tess, lying about what had happened and what they'd "seen", possibly without even taking a payoff from Luthor for it.

Worse, even if Tess might be able to get a restraining order -- unlikely, with the number of Metropolis judges Luthor had in his pocket to stop such going through -- she'd have to list the areas where he wasn't allowed to be, which would be like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Luthor would know exactly where she was, and then he'd be able to send assassins after her with impunity. He would even be able to get away with murdering her if he was careful with the setup -- the restraining order would be a matter of public record, and Tess had any number of enemies who would be thrilled to take advantage of her location and murder her in revenge for one thing or another, up to and including possibly even her old Checkmate missions. She didn't deserve that; she'd been redeemed, was on the side of good, now ...unlike other people Clark could name, who embraced their darkness like an old friend, and decided that their old friends were really their nemeses.

Yes, Luthor had lost his memory, but the Summerholt formula was a tricky thing. From what files Chloe had hacked copies for Hamilton to decipher, the neurotoxin formula had been tested on a few subjects before, but not extensively, and it had never been used on a clone body before. Apparently the list of possible side effects had been enough to make Emil cringe and not want to talk about it, but it seemed that for whatever simulations Emil had run, knowing what he knew about the Luthor clone, the circumstances, and the dosage, full-blown visual-and-auditory hallucinations and megalomania were the tip of the iceberg.

But one thing Hamilton had warned them all of was the possibility that those memories might not be completely, irretrievably gone. Under the "right" set of circumstances, Luthor's memories might be triggered. He might remember bits and pieces, or he might -- god forbid -- remember _everything_.

And if there was one thing the League had had absolute consensus on, it was that Luthor regaining his memories would be a death-knell for every single one of the members of the League, and that for that reason Luthor must never remember what he once knew.

At his friends' urging, Clark had tried his level best to throw himself into his reporter persona when Luthor came calling -- and he had about a month in, trying to "reconnect" with the people he'd used to know. Luthor had been confused and off-balance, and Clark had breathed a sigh of relief when he hadn't followed up after.

Or, at least, Clark had _thought_ that had been the end of it. If Luthor was spending time sulking around Clark's old loft, he might be trying to recall things from their shared past by exposing himself to old, familiar settings, and from the looks of the furniture and the placement of everything, it was all pretty damningly close to how it had used to be.

Clark didn't need the other League members to tell him that if Luthor remembered anything, anything _at all_ about him, it would be a disaster. As 'Superman', Clark looked and acted the way 'Clark Kent' used to be. The BrainIAC 5 from the future might have gone around and changed or otherwise removed everyone's memories of him from when he'd been living in town -- as scary and painful as that had been to find out; Chloe might be right about how prudent a measure it had actually been, but that didn't mean Clark had to _like_ it -- so Luthor couldn't have found out Clark’s secret that way, but apparently he'd learned enough to know that this barn might be one of the best, if not only surviving places, where he might be able to get close to retrieving those dangerous memories, if he tried hard enough, spent enough time here.

It had Clark feeling angry as hell, and working off of a slow burn, because as much as it looked and acted and pretended to _be_ Lex, _**this clone wasn't Lex**_. At _best_ , it was the **worst** of Lionel and Lex combined. And it _killed_ Clark to look around and think of that Luthor clone wandering around up here, touching things, tainting Clark's good memories of this place and of Lex -- the way he'd _used_ to be -- by his very presence. It made Clark shudder with disgust.

Clark took a deep breath and let it out. He probably shouldn't get this mad over it, though. If the clone didn't remember, it didn't remember. That clone wouldn't know what a horrible thing it was doing, not knowing this place was Clark's. Because maybe, just maybe, Clark was jumping to conclusions. Maybe the clone hadn't known this was Clark's old home, that 'Superman' had grown up here. After all, the floor was faded over time where the various pieces of furniture had lay for years without being moved. It was entirely possible that whoever owned the place had just decided to keep up the same layout. Right? Right -- he was being silly. Luthor had probably just trespassed the once; it would be stupid to think that the clone had rearranged all the furniture up here when it wasn't even... his.

Right. This place wasn't Luthor's -- it belonged to this "Joseph Langevin" person. There wasn't anything odd or leftover and seemingly out of place, which meant that the new property owner must have done up the place himself. Luthor hadn't moved any of the furniture around to make it look like this. Heck, Luthor hadn't even been expecting him.

And with that realization, Clark let out a little sigh of relief. Luthor _hadn't_ been expecting him. It was probably just coincidence. ...And as Clark began to calm, he felt a little exasperated with himself. _I probably ought to at least give him back his shoes and jacket,_ he thought, starting to reach for them. The least he could do was return Luthor's things to him, or the sheriff to give to him whenever he got out -- if he got out, if Clark couldn't convince the property owners as 'Superman' otherwise.

Because, honestly, Luthor hadn't been lying in wait for him. Now Clark was starting to feel a little silly for even thinking it. After all, if Luthor had regained any of his memories, the first thing out of his mouth would have been a crowing, sneering statement of having remembered that damning little fact and more than a few threats of 'unmasking' besides, with a good helping of righteous indignation on the side for 'Superman' -- paragon of 'Truth, Justice, and the American Way' -- having been a hypocrite all along for _lying_ about who he really was. And it was perfectly obvious it hadn't been some sort of trap for Superman! Otherwise, Luthor would've brought enough Kryptonite to--

Clark flinched away from the coat and chair suddenly in alarm, and his eyes flew wide.

Then he gave the second holster -- still boasting a gun -- a narrow-eyed glare and brought his x-ray vision into focus.

And then he clenched his teeth as hard as his fists.

Kryptonite bullets. Kryptonite bullets so potent that they were _leaking_ radiation.

\--Luthor _had_ been prepared for him. He'd just grabbed the wrong gun. Which meant...

And then Tess called him back on his cellphone with news of exactly who owned his childhood home now, and Clark saw red.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Okay. Okay. He probably shouldn't have lost his temper like that.

Clark shivered and dropped a little lower in the air. The fire was spread across the top of the barn, except around the hole in the roof of the barn he'd made when he'd punched through it...

...until the roof collapsed and the whole thing started to go up in flames. Clark winced, because _shit_ he hadn't meant to do that--

\--but, damnit, Luthor had _bought the farm_ and then told him _**he**_ was trespassing and-- and-- fuck, _**Kryptonite**_ and--

Ohshitthatgrasswascatching--

Clark hit the ground running, and was patting out the flames at the boundary with his hands and trying to blow it out and...

He was panting, hands on his knees, by the time the barn was out. ...Well, what _had been_ the barn.

He wasn't even entirely sure where he'd summoned the energy for the heat vision from, honestly.

He swallowed hard and fought the urge to giggle hysterically because, _sure_ , these days he usually had a pretty bad reaction to somebody pulling Kryptonite on him, but when exactly had he gone from melting guns to burning down buildings?

...It was all Luthor's fault, anyway. Clark hadn't _wanted_ to burn it down, hadn't meant to, but it was supposed to be _his_ Fortress, _his_ refuge, and he'd been tired and upset and just wanted to rest, just for a little while, just close his eyes and not see, not think about, the hundreds of millions of dead bodies piled up dozens of feet high across twisted landscapes, and floating bloated corpses spinning away through the darkness of space, and the wreckage of once-great cities echoing with the desperate cries of the trapped who were soon-to-be-crushed into silence as yet another building collapsed under the strain, and the tear-streaked faces of dead-eyed aliens with no hope left who had lost their spaceships, their colonies, their families, their planets, their _homes_ , and if Luthor hadn't bought the place -- if it had been _anyone_ else --

Clark ran a hand across his face and angrily scrubbed away tears. He'd tried to buy the place back for his mother, he really had. He hadn't been able to break the contract with the original buyers, but when it had gone back on the market... He'd been outbid by a lousy thirty-two-dollars, and that had hurt _so much_ , but now? Now he knew that no matter how much money he could have put up, it never would have been enough. Luthor would have always outbid him.

When it came to the important things, Luthor always, always won. Damn him.

...It still wasn't an excuse.

Clark stared at the barn he'd grown up half-living in and swallowed a lump in his throat.

And then he bit the bullet, shut his eyes, bowed his head, and picked up his cellphone to tell Tess what he'd done.

...By the time she was done talking, he felt a little sick. Mostly because she was right.

He hung up the phone.

He firmed his jaw, squared his shoulders, and lifted his eyes.

And then he burned the old farmhouse down.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Clark was completely drained of everything, when he pulled himself back into the truck.

He barely had the energy to haphazardly toss the shards of plastic and metal he was holding -- what remained of the cellphone he'd accidentally broken when he'd clenched his hands into fists -- into the passenger's side wheel well.

He managed to slam the truck door shut.

Then he crossed his arms on the steering wheel and let his head fall on them with a soft thump.

Some days, he really hated being him.

But Tess had been right. She had been so right.

And Clark couldn't ignore her. If there was one thing he'd learned over the years -- the hard way -- it was that Lex had never been who Clark had thought he was.

Tess had been Lex's executive assistant for the year before he'd vanished. she'd been privy to all his deepest and darkest secrets, all the machinations of LuthorCorp behind-the-scenes. She knew the man behind all the masks, the one Clark had never known. The one Clark had never _wanted_ to know, had blinded himself to in the same way Chloe had blinded herself to him for so long, and for so much heartbreak.

Tess was the one who had been fighting, defending against, and otherwise _dealing with_ Luthor for the past several months, ever since his latest clone-incarnation. While Clark had just been avoiding him, Tess had been discussing strategy with Oliver and Chloe and psychology with Emil.

So when Tess told him that he'd done the right thing burning down the barn, he trusted her.

When she explained that he should burn down the house, too, because he had to cover Clark's tracks, because burning down the barn was only one half of what might trigger his memory there, because he needed to protect himself and everybody else, because it would make even less sense for Superman to only burn down the one structure instead of both of them, because if he kept coming back to visit the place Luthor would eventually have figured it out anyway, because he needed to finally and completely cut ties with the past, because of that and all the other reasons why, it sounded right, even if it felt wrong. So Clark did that, too.

Clark was glad she was on his side. He was glad that he had such smart friends. Because, even though it hurt like hell and he hated it, they were right about Luthor, just like they'd been right all along about Lex.

He was dangerous. He hated Superman. He was never going to change.

And god help them all if he ever remembered who they were.

Clark sat there a long time before he was able to raise his head and start the engine.

But he did it because he had to. Superman couldn't be caught out on the old Kent farm -- now the farmstead property of "Joseph Langevin", that actually belonged to one Alexander _Joseph Luthor_ , from his mother's maiden name Lillian _Langevin_. He couldn't be seen here. Not in a truck registered to one Clark Kent. There would be questions asked.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Clark had to pull over to the side of the road halfway to Metropolis. His head was spinning, and he could barely keep his eyes open.

He grimaced as he fumbled for the duffel bag under the seat and pulled it out. He was careful with the knife, cutting off his boots and everything else, but he still nicked himself once or twice, and hissed at the pain.

He got himself into some sweatpants and a t-shirt, socks and shoes... then gave up on the shoes and kicked them off again. He used his handkerchief as a makeshift bandage until his blood clotted from those tiny, shallow little cuts. He shoved the remnants of his torn and dirty uniform into the duffel bag and back under the seat. And then he laid himself down across the front seat and tried to remember what lying still was like.

His last thought before he passed out was that maybe Luthor did remember and it was purposeful desecration of what they'd once had, buying it out from under him like that, or maybe it wasn't. But, either way, it was no harm, no foul. Luthor could easily build the structures back if he really wanted them, they just wouldn't be the same. And that was really all that mattered.

...Wasn't it?

~*~*~*~*~*~


End file.
